


Van into Heart

by Not_A_Valid_Opinion



Series: Icarus knew how high he could fly and still, he went higher [4]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, Dirk has flashback of being Svlad in Blackwing, Exhaustion, Gen, Give this boy a break, Project Blackwing (Dirk Gently), and some money, dirk tries to argue with the universe again, it goes as well as it always does for him, its been 2 years since he's escaped blackwing, not well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Valid_Opinion/pseuds/Not_A_Valid_Opinion
Summary: Stalked, exhausted, and pushed to a point, Dirk is about ready to drop. The Rowdy Three want something from Dirk, who is less than willing to let the universe lead him in their direction.(In which Dirk begins to learn to stop arguing with the universe-It's really gotten him nowhere.)





	Van into Heart

**Author's Note:**

> In this chapter, Dirk is actually 17, and been on the run for around 2 years, meaning he escaped BW when he was 15. Dirk says in the show he’s been away from BW for 16 years, and Samuel Barnett was around 35 when the show was being filmed but I headcanon Dirk at around 31 years old. He was taken when he was 9 in this fic. Also, I know in the original books Dirk used his random expense of money to go to harvard but tbh, lets ignore that, because in the same book Dirk was taken away when he was 10, so. And Max Landis changed a lot in the series I’m writing for so I’m going with that. Also fuck Max Landis jesus christ. Also please watch the show when it comes on Netflix I’d still love a season 3 if Max isn’t on the project.

He sucked in a slow breath, as though the action took a tremendous amount of effort, and tried to calm himself.

 _They’re gone, they’re gone, they’re gone_ , he repeats in his head, steadying himself. Exhaustion racked through his blood in the form of a shiver, and he blinks hard, trying to refocus his vision. His hair was shaggy and ran past his shoulders, split and dry. It stuck to his dirty clothes like velcro, and it tugged on his scalp, but he hardly noticed. He was so tired, so tired, so tired. _They’re gone, they’re gone, for now, they’re gone._

A low, exhaust-like rumble creeps from behind him. He freezes, whines, doesn’t have to turn around to recognize the presence. He runs.

How the _hell_ did they keep finding him?

The rumble roars into the cackle of a deep engine, and it doesn’t follows him, but the threat does. Dirk trepidatiously weaves in between buildings and through alleyways, coming out the other end and finding the large, dirty-black and busted up van waiting for him no matter where he’d emerge from. Dirk halts at the sight of it yet again, nearly falling forwards and holding himself steady on a cold brick wall. The van, scratched and of old, stares back at him. The windows are tinted, and he can’t see inside, but he knows who’s there.

He turns away and tries a different path.

He stays in the alley paths for another day, trapped and tired. Eventually, he sits by a dumpster, wonders why they don’t come in after him and leave their shadowy van, get it over with. It’s cold in the alleys, but it’s sheltered from the wind. He spots a mouse a ways from him, sniffing at the corner of a faded brick. The mouse digs around before diving under a tiny, hidden hole that most likely led into the building it was attached to. He felt oddly jealous, for a moment, and he closes his eyes and falls into a restless sleep.

He wakes early, gasping but quiet. Shakily, he stands, grabs his backpack, and heads to the entrance of the alley. As he approaches, his steps grow faster, and soon he’s running for reasons he can’t put into words. At the entrance, parked to the side but still facing him, is the van. Its headlights pop on and nearly blind Dirk, and the boy groans.

“How in the _bloody hell_ are you still _going?”_ Dirk screams at the van, and it’s lights gradually become dimmer until he can stand to glare through the windshield. He makes sure to recall that in America, the steering wheel is on a different side than England; he looks Martin in the eye, knows he does, but cannot see him in the darkness cloaking the glass. “Look, I get it! You’re- you’re hungry, and you don’t like me, but this is just _rude!_ How did you even get a van? Where’d you learn to _drive?_ ”

There’s no response. The van glares, silent and personal. Dirk clenches his fists. Why was he trying to reason with them? They’d been stalking him for almost a month, never exiting their van, but Dirk knew who it was. He felt it, heard it inside of himself. It sounded vague and scrambled and hurt his ears and wrists and chest, but he knew what it meant. He knew who they were. So why hadn’t they faced him?

In a moment of blind anger and possibly bravery, Dirk stalks forwards. He goes right to the van, looks into the drivers side from as close as he can.

He kicks the hood.

The car doesn’t even rock; there’s a dull _thud_ as his foot collides, and after a second of silence, Dirk audibly gasps and cradles his foot. “OW! _Ow._ Bad idea. Um,” He gingerly puts his foot down and steps away from the car, “ya, I’ll be going now. Please stop following me? If you could?”

The headlights shut off, and Dirk waits a moment, but nothing exits the van. It rocks, and from inside, Dirk can hear the hooting of Project Incubus. The van doors rattle but do not open. Dirk takes a deep breath and walks away.  

The van, of course, follows him a good distance behind. He can hear it, even though he shouldn’t be able to from its distance away- the low rumble, the turning of rocks under the shady wheels. It makes Dirk shiver, and he yawns, exhausted, tense.

 

_“Svlad,” greets Riggins, and Svlad perks up a bit at the sight of him. He hadn’t seen the Colonel in months, and he had wondered when the man would return to personally oversee his tests._

_“Scott,” Svlad bites back, but he gives the man his attention, grateful for the excuse to put down his puzzle without punishment. “How was your vacation?”_

_Riggins sits down in the chair that’s been set out to face him. He has a soft, almost fatherly smile on his face. “I wasn’t on vacation, kid. But I’m sure you know that. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t know that, would you?”_

_He puts a file down in front of Svlad, and the boy moves his puzzle aside, looks to the brown folder inquisically. “Can you tell me what’s in these files, Svlad?”_

_“Papers, and words, I’d imagine?” he guesses with a shrug, tries to look disinterested, but the folder stands out on the white table, and he can’t pull it off. Riggins notices, and it irks Svlad that he wears his heart on his sleeve like an inprivate diary. He doesn’t like being read, not by Riggins._

_The older man smiles pleasantly, all the patience in the world on his side. “Not wrong, but there’s more to it. No, in here we have all the information we’ve been able to acquire on another Project that’s been recently introduced into our facility. Do you know what an Incubus is?”_

_“Ew, yes.”_

_“The other definition, Svlad.”_

_“Oh,” he falters. He does that around Riggins a lot. “No, then.”_

_Riggins opens the file slowly. Inside are clips of photos, documentations, and notes, along with a pen. Svlad tries to catch a glimpse, but Riggins pulls it away, hands him the stack of photos and closes up the information attached._

_“Pull those off the clip and tell me what you think.”_

_Svlad knew better than to argue. He detaches the photos, lays them out on the sterile table so they face him._

_There are four boys, each scruffy and dressed faintly similarly. They only looked a short stretch older than him, and one looked much younger. Each photo harboured haunted, scared, or defiant expressions. None looked tame in the photos, each with vivid colours surrounding them and piercing eyes. One, Svlad picked out, had extraordinarily blue eyes. He picks up the photo, trying to figure out what they reminded him of. He thinks they remind him of his mother, but he can’t remember if she even_ had _blue eyes._

_“That’s Martin,” Riggins tells him, and he scribbles something into his notes with the pen. “He’s one of the members of the Project known as Incubus. An incubus, Svlad, is a nightmare. It’s the cause of every bad feeling you have, the- the duress you might find yourself under. An incubus is a monster, Svlad,” the boy looks up at that, lowers the photo slightly and gazes back to the Colonel, “and these boys, they’re called Project Incubus for a reason.”_

_“Monster?” Svlad echos, looks down at another photo, the boy who looks younger than himself. The photo looks like a mugshot, but his eyes are wild and scared. It was taken here, Svlad knew, and he puts the photo down._

_“Yes. They’re dangerous. They’ve hurt people, and enjoyed it. They’re young, like you, but they’re not like you; they need to be subdued, while you need to be encouraged. Do you understand?”_

_Svlad shrinks down in his seat. “Am I a monster?”_

_Riggins shakes his head. “No. No, you’re not a monster, Svlad. You’re just a boy.”_

_“So are they. What- what’s different?” Svlad asks, not wanting an answer. He’d been called a monster, by the scientists and doctors and soldiers(and mother and father and classmates and-), and didn’t understand why Riggins was acting as though he were anything but._

_“We offered help, here at Blackwing. We offered results. And they refused,” he leans forwards, and Svlad’s mouth tastes like iron, and his skin crawls and itches, “that’s the difference, kid. They refused. You didn’t.”_

 

“-happen to see this lizard running around here, did ya?”

Dirk blinks, readjusts his eyes. It’s hard to focus, and it takes him a moment, but he comes face to face with a teenage girl, younger than him (he suspects) looking at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry?” Dirk asks, realizing he’d missed something. The girl smiles patiently, sweetly, and tries again, slower this time.

“I lost my lizard, Mr. Bailey, around here. I was asking if you’d seen him. He’s yellow and fat with black spots, a Leopard Gecko?”

Dirk tries to look polite, but is too on edge. He glances around himself- he doesn’t see the dangerous black van that had been on his tail before, but doesn’t doubt its proximity. The woman clears her throat, and Dirk turns his attention back to her, uncertain.

“I-I haven’t seen it. The gecko, I mean. I’ll… keep an eye out for it?”

“For _him,_ dude,” says the girl, still smiling but tone with a stinging edge. She stalks past him, and Dirk’s eyes follow her, dazed, as she goes. He snaps himself out of it, gazes around again, but there’s still no van, no sound.

He keeps walking, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders better, and walks into a coffee shop. He buys a tea, trying his best to keep his hands from shaking as he hands over cash and grabs his drink. Pulling up a chair, he sits in the back, and from the window sees still no van.

It somehow makes him more anxious, not knowing where they’ve gone, if they’ve left him to be.

Why would they follow him to begin with? Why _him?_

Don’t they know how much it hurts?

 

_“Are you ready?”_

_Svlad shuffles his feet anxiously, looking anything but. “If I must be. Why must I be?”_

_Riggins sighs. “You have to do this, Svlad. I’m sorry.”_

_Sorry. The word sounds fake, sounds bitter, sounds soothing. The idea of anybody being sorry for him at this point is ridiculous, and Svlad doesn’t believe a word of it._

_Riggins, though. He was different. He’d never called Svlad a Project. He was never Icarus, to him- just Svlad. It made him feel sick, but he didn’t know what he’d prefer._

_Riggins presses a button, opens the door. The guards around them look serious, as though scared. Their guns are out, cocked and threatening. Svlad shrinks down into his jacket, nervous._

_They step inside hesitantly._

_The room is bright, and the first thing Dirk notices is the cage._

_Then, he sees the boy inside the cage, maybe only a few years older than him, his hair already showing signs of white and his skin pale. The boy wore glasses that were too small for his face, black rimmed and somehow vibrant. He wore a standard Project jumper, and he gripped the bars of the cage so tight his hands were tinted with a blush. His expression was stoic, and his eyes, the same as his photo, were a starchy blue._

_Svlad was forced towards him, and a dangerous smile began to creep onto the caged boys face._

_“Svlad, this is Martin. Say hi, boy,” Riggins urged, still nudging Svlad forward. Svlad shrugged his hands off of him, earning him a disapproving frown from Riggins, but all Svlad could see was the boy in the cage._

_Martin remained tight on the bars, his eyes shielded, guarded from any emotions that might be present. His toothy smile remained plastered on his empty face, white and gnawing._

_“Say hi, Svlad,” Riggins orders, his voice less sweet now, and Svlad looks to the floor for a moment before gathering the courage to look back into Martin’s eyes._

_“Hi, Martin,” he greets quietly, fearfully. Martin watches him with bright eyes that make Svlad wonder if his were dull in comparison._

_There's quiet in the room. Then, from behind him, is a shuffling noise. Daringly, Svlad manages to pull his eyes away from Martin’s and towards the noise, and to his dismay, there's nobody there. He catches sight of the door as it swings closed, and Svlad’s heart races, instinctively turns back to Martin in fear._

_The grin opens up as the caged boy inhales deeply, but it's more than that, and Svlad is lightheaded, empty, angry, lost, powerless, dangerous, floating, crying,_ nothing.

_Svlad feels himself be ripped apart at the seams like a quilt he probably invented seeing at the hands of a blue eyed boy that was only a few years older than him._

 

Dirk doesn’t realize he’d fallen asleep on the table until he jolts up, knocking his chair back, and crashes into a man holding a beverage filled with contents which fly onto his sweater. The man groans in shock, and Dirk scrambles back into his body, stares at the man stunned and helpless.

“I… am _so_ sorry, Sir, I, um…” the man is staring at him like he’d just punched him, and Dirk has no idea what to do, knows people are watching him, doesn’t know these people, they’re not scientists but they _feel_ like it, like he’s back in Blackwing, he’s a subject, he’s a _Project,_ he-

He runs. As he goes, he yells out, “Sorry!” for good measure and dashes out the door, runs as far away as he can before he hears a mechanical clang to his left and nearly crashes into the side of a building when he whips his head towards the noise and comes to a jolting stop.

The van is there, somehow in worse condition then he’d remembered, staring and judging and assessing and _laughing_ and-

Dirk swallows, shaking, and sticks up a middle finger at the van. People on the street around him give him odd looks as they pass him flipping off a parked van, but the van shakes, and hoots erupt from inside. They sound happy, inside the van, cheering and hollering at a kid making a vulgar gesture. He wonders how they can be so happy when he feels so _empty._

He lowers his hand, gives the van a sad smile, and is on the move again. The van doesn’t follow, but it does.

 

_“Icarus? Project Icarus, you alert yet?”_

_Svlad groans, and after a moment, pries his eyes open. “I think I just got runover by a freight train with knives taped to it,” he croaks miserably, taking in his surroundings. He’s in the medical ward, he can tell. He recognizes the giant black cross symbol painted on the door._

_“Icarus, how do you feel?”_

_Svlad blinks. “Like I just got-”_

_“Stop. Where does it hurt?” Asks the medical officer, and Svlad smushes himself further into the firm bed they’d placed him on. He breathes deeply, getting a feel for his breath, what it could do._

_“Everywhere,” he replies honestly, “and nowhere.”_

_The doctor sighs. “Call Colonel Riggins,” she orders over her shoulder, and another doctor turns away, and Svlad sits up in the bed._

_“What happened?” he asks, mind foggy. “What- I was, I can’t remember, it was blue, and-”_

_The doctor stabs him with a needle. Svlad blinks, looks at his veins and realizes she’s_

_taking blood. Train of thought lost, he waits until she’s done before laying back in his bed._

_After an amount of time lost without a way to track it, Riggins comes on the scene with a toothy grin scarily similar to the one of the boy in the cage. Only, his expressed joy, while Martin’s was a decoration._

_“Svlad, my boy, how do you feel!” he questions with feeling, and Svlad sits up, scootches unconsciously away from him and wraps his arms around himself instinctively. He doesn’t look at Riggins, knows he’s wearing that smile he can’t face, the smile that meant he’d done something psychic on accident and he’d made Blackwing proud. It’s the worst smile he’d ever have to face, isn’t ready to see it again._

_“Like I just got-”_

_“He says he hurts everywhere and nowhere at the same time, Colonel. We took some blood and we’re gonna run it through to see if anything has changed from what he took last month, Sir.”_

_Riggins take a moment before turning to the doctor, and he pats her on the shoulder. “Very good, then. Would you mind giving me some space with the boy?”_

_The doctor’s eyes dart between the two of them, lingering on Svlad uncertainty, as though she wasn’t sure that would be safe. She steps towards the other doctor a few feet away, and Riggins kneels down to Svlad’s height. His smile is smaller now, but there, and genuine. He looks proud, and Svlad feels sick, exhausted._

_“What did it feel like?” asks the man, and Svlad plays with the end of the thin grey blanket._

_“I don’t even know what ‘it’ was,” he argues quietly, and Riggins pats the outline of Svlad’s leg affectionately, misses it when Svlad flinches._

_“Project Incubus… Svlad, but they feed off fear. I told you they were monsters… well, because I know how much being called a monster scares you, kid. I’ve seen your expression when some worker lets that word slip out like its a pleasantry. I didn’t mean to use it against you, but I had to make you scared, so we could see what would happen when Martin feeds off of you,” Riggins explains, and Svlad’s hands have frozen on the blanket, and Riggins continues, “You see, when Incubus feeds, they feed off of people by taking a part of their… their_ soul _or their essence or what have you. It’s very painful, and it-it can be known to put people in comas, even kill if wielded inappropriately. There’s a younger boy in Incubus named Jacob, and he told us that… that they don’t want to be hurting these people. They don’t like seeing people get hurt. They’re very nice people, Svlad, they’re just… unorthodox. They hurt people to remain strong. It wouldn’t kill them to stop feeding, we- we’ve tested it, but it does take away everything that makes them_ them _, which is worse, Svlad, so very worse. So, we wanted to help these boys. They didn’t want our help, of course, but they were hurting people, so we had to get involved. Now that we’ve finally got them all, we’re trying to find ways to help them without hurting them and Svlad- you’re the answer.”_

_Svlad pulls his knees up to his chest and sniffs, finally looking at Riggins, whose eyes are lit with enthusiasm. “Svlad, your powers, we think they affect Incubus differently than normal people. It was a theory, at first, and you were the test. It seems as though you’re not put in physical trauma when they feed, only psychological. That’s where it hurt, isn’t it? It hurt your way of being?”_

_Svlad, lost to feelings he could never name and holding in a sob, nods lightly. “I-it felt like I was the monster and the scientist a-and free at the same time,” he chokes out, and Riggins nods in interest._

_“Perfect,” he says to himself, then to Svlad; “Svlad, my boy, you can help these people. They’re going to feed off of you. They’re going to be saved, thanks to you. You’re not a monster- you’re_ psychic _.”_

_Riggins gets up and dusts off his knees. He ruffles Svlad’s hair, but he doesn’t feel it, and when Riggins is gone, his head falls onto his knees and he lets out a breathless sob._

_“What’s the difference?” he whispers._

 

Rubbing his eyes, Dirk tries to focus on not falling as he makes it to the convenience store. He buys a bag of bread and shoves it in his backpack, pushing his hair out of his face as he hands over money and leaves, looking around cautiously and heading down the street after deeming it clear of the van.

He tries not to think about it.

He finds a park bench after a few hours of mindless wandering, sit down, and nibbles on the crust of two plain slices. He spends the rest of the day like so; he wanders, waits for nothing, tries to sleep gets interrupted by the van, the van, the _van._

Dirk is getting _really_ sick of the van.

“Okay, that’s about it!” He yells, spinning to face his stalkers yet again. “Martin, if you don’t get out of this van this instant, I- I’m going to come in there myself!”

The silence that follows this statement backfires almost immediately as he realizes what he said. Sputtering, he tries to form words to take it back, but before he can get a word out, the backdoor of the van slowly and mechanically opens. The van is silent, and Dirk feels his stomach drop and his fist clench anxiously, but he doesn’t recall clenching them, moves as though someone had taken over his body as he hesitantly takes a step towards the van door. He pauses, closes his eyes and breathes in deep, then takes another step.

He’s in the van and doesn’t recall stepping inside.

Its dark. He can vaguely make out the four heads inside the van, knows their silhouettes but can’t see details. He wonders how Martin can see the road with it being so dark inside the van and rather late outside as well.

The van has no back seats, and he sits on the floor next to a teenager who growls slightly as he lowers himself with his knees up to his chest. Dirk scoots a little back from him, then flinches as he hears a smaller boy close the door behind him. He can recognize in the last bit of light from the slowly closing door the boy is Jacob, the youngest of the four and the first to have been brought into Blackwing. He doesn’t want to call him by name, feels a part of himself screeching that he’s wrong, that that wasn’t his name. He’s certain that one was Jacob, even as the door closes and the light is gone, the only light to enter from the front seat windows that were faded from the tint, but trusts the universe and doesn’t say anything.

Dirk turns his head to Martin, who he can see is at the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel and not looking at him. He can see, from the back of his head, the outline of glasses- he never had glasses in Blackwing, did he? He can’t fully recall, but doesn’t think he did. _Does he need them,_ Dirk wonders, _or is he just wearing them for the aesthetic?_

After staring at the back of Martin’s head for what was probably too long, the van starts to move, and it snaps Dirk out of his trance. He can tell the other boys are watching him, and Dirk’s gaze falls to his hands awkwardly, which he drums against the floor in a desperate attempt to ground himself. He feels like he’s about to hop out of his skin. They’re just _watching_ him.

“You look tired, Icarus,” Martin says from upfront without looking away from the road. His voice had gotten much deeper in the two years they’d been free. “Why don't you take a rest?”

Dirk feels like he should be alarmed by that suggestion, but instead he sags further against the wall of the van, lets out a sigh. “Not much time to sleep when I’m being stalked by vampires, is there?” he points out, but his voice is harsh, and the three boys around him all break out into chuckles.

“Sorry about that, Icarus, but we needed to give you something, and you just kept running. And running! You’re so stressed!” Jacob says, his voice squeaky and excited, and Dirk’s mouth gaps.

“Wh- of course I ran!” he yells, tired and angry, “it-it hurts when you do that sucky-eaty-thing, it does! I mean, I didn’t know what you wanted, and didn’t know your intentions, and you just kept following me and never left this van you obviously stole and- wait, something to give me? You aren’t going to do that- that thing to me?”

The boys erupt in laughter again. It lasts for a while, and Dirk feels blank, watches them laugh and giggles quietly himself, almost hysterically.

“Listen, Icky, we does what we gotta, Y’know? Boys gotta eat and you’re a meal, man. Can’t help that. It’ll help you sleep, though. It's good for us both, man, us both. Y’know?” A darker skinned teen panders, and Dirk thinks back on how he feels when they do it, how he’s torn apart from inside out but there’s nothing wrong, how he wakes up cold and slated. It’s painful, but, he realizes with growing dread, the running is worse.

The van pulls over and in an instant, Martin has hopped over the driver’s seat is in the back with them. Dirk flinches at the sudden movement and scoots away on instinct, and feels his back touch the third teen who’d been silent for the exchange, save his chuckles. The teen lets out a whoop and shoves him away, and Dirk lands in the middle of the four, on his stomach, and he flips over quickly. He could run, try to open the door, but he wont, he knows. This has to happen. This was always meant to happen.

The four boys breathe in.

Svlad cries, Icarus screams, and Dirk falls asleep.

 

When he slowly comes back to himself, the van is much brighter. He goes to cover his eyes and block out the light, and feels a blanket follow his arm. After a moment of confusion, he moves his head off the pillow (pillow?) and tries to focus on his surroundings.

The four teens are at the side of his feet, sitting in a circle and talking quietly amongst themselves. Dirk blinks sleep from his eyes, wonders what time its is, notes it must be morning by now. He must have been asleep a while. The blanket on him has a pink and green floral pattern and is a dated quilt, and Dirk sits up, pulls in further onto himself and studies it. It’s quite beautiful to look at, and he wonders where they’d gotten it. And the van. And the ability to drive a van.

He notices the four boys are watching him, now. He also notices the one who rather rudely shoved him was gently cradling a gecko in his arms.

“Mr Bailey?” Dirk says in shock, and the man holding him shakes his head.

“No, no, I’m Cross!” He exclaimed loudly, and Dirk blinks, nods. The other boys nod as well, save for Martin, who watches him with clouded eyes.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, not knowing what else to say. “Well, um. Good morning? I. Don’t know what to do, now.”

Martin smiles at him, then looks to Cross. “Give him the little guy and the little girl, would ya? We gotta be off.”

Cross nodds, and the teen next to him does the same. Dirk is handed a lizard and… a squeaky toy. Dirk would be weirded out, but instead his eyes go wide, and he stares at it with tears in his eyes.

“Is… is this-”

“You take good care now, you hear? We ain’t got nobody on our trail, we’d know. Don’t know why we don’t. Don’t know where they’ve gone,” Martin’s voice is serious, dangerous, and Dirk tries to blink the tears from his eyes, can’t wipe them away without dropping the squeaky toy or the gecko. “The Colonel… he asked you to join them. Said you’d said yes, said you liked it there, but when we broke the system, you ran faster than the rest of us to get out. Ran so fast, kid, we almost lost where you’d gone, but you smell, and we find you if we gotta find you. You hear?”

Dirk nods shakily, sniffs. Martin leans in close to him. “So listen, Icarus. You take care. You keep running until you ain’t gotta run no more. You run to us if you gotta, kid. To me, to Vogel,” he gestures to Jacob, “Cross, or Gripps. You don’t ever lose that,” he points at the squeaky toy, “and you find yourself where you best be, kid. Don’t fight it; fight them.”

Gripps whoops, and the other two whoop, and Martin’s eyes are cold, and concerned, and Dirk nods rapidly, honestly, determinedly.

“Okay,” he promises almost in a daze, and Cross grabs something from behind him, Dirk’s backpack. He doesn’t recall taking it off, realizes they must have done it for him. Cross scoots on the floor of the van behind Dirk and weaves his arms through the backpack, put it on him and tightens the straps so they properly fit him, something Dirk had never bothered to do.

Cross sits back down with his boys. “You need us,” Martin says again, “You need to Rowdy Three, we’re here, you hear?”

“Right,” Dirk agrees again, then pauses, scrunches his eyebrows. “Wait, Three? But-”

Vogel opens the van door, and without warning, Cross and Gripps shove him out. Dirk yelps, feet tangled in the blanket, and the van screeches away, door still open. Their hoots are heard as they speed down the road, miraculously not hitting anybody.  

He lays sprawled on the curb, stunned, for nearly ten minutes. Then he gets up, neatly fits the blanket in his backpack while keeping an eye on the gecko (he put him in his shoe during this process to keep it somewhere, but it wouldn’t come out, so Dirk decided to carry his shoe with the gecko in it), and squeezes the squeaky toy as he walks in a random direction. It leads him to a house with a white picket fence and bright green grass stretched all across the yard. He knocks on the door without wondering why, and the man he vaguely recognizes opens the door. The man’s eyes widen, and Dirk’s do as well, realizing who he’s seeing.

“Ah! Well, hello! Awfully sorry about the drink the other day, I promise I did not intend to spill it, I just-”

“Is that Mr. Bailey?” The man interrupts, pointing at his shoe in shock, which had a tiny lizard head resting on the rim of where a foot should be. Dirk nearly hops in joy.

“Oh! Yes, it is, it is in fact that specific gecko, your… _daughter’s,_ right?” he guesses, and the man is watching him with shock evident on his face.

“You… yes, he’s my daughter’s. Thank you so much for finding him. She’s at school right now, but she’ll be so happy to see him again. Would you like to come in? There’s a reward for him, too,” he offers, and Dirk shakes his head.

“No, I-I’m good! Just glad your daughter has a pet again. I had a dog once! Twice, I suppose, there was two dogs at two different times, yes,” Dirk says happily, and the man smiles.

“What’s your name?” He asks, looking over Dirks long and matted hair, dirty clothes, and the toy held securely in his fist, “You’re a bit young, shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Oh,” Dirk says, more to himself than anything. “I’m Dirk! I haven’t thought of a last name, yet. Or been to school in however many years since the government removed me from mine. I don’t even know how old I am! I’m thinking possibly sixteen-seventeen-ish but honestly, who knows? I could be eighteen! That’s old enough to drink in Canada I do believe. I remember _that_ but not the year I was born, funny how that works, huh?” Dirk laughs, and the man stares at him with wide eyes and a blank face.

Dirk hands him the shoe. He takes it, stares, then promises to be back in a moment. True to his word, two minutes later, the man returns with a lizardless shoe and a wad of cash, of which Dirk is too poor to refuse.

Dirk leaves the steps, breathes in the clean morning air, and continues on randomly. He absently flips through the cash in his hand and looks to the toy he still holds.

“You know what?” He asks it, and smiles, “I think I rather liked reuniting Mr. Bailey with that guy. I should do things like that more often, huh, Mona?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's going to be either one or two more parts for this series. I really appreciate everyone who has commented and stuck with me through this! It’s been so fun to write this, I love expanding on this show so much. I really love this show, it means a lot to me and the comments y’all leave make me feel so good about my works for it. Can’t express enough how much it means to me. Stay tuned for more! 
> 
> (I've been watching so much south park for no other reason than I don't want to study for diplomas- please send help)


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